


Bones

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: AUish, Ficlet, Gen, spoilers for chapter 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Sam visits Heartman.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges & Heartman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Bones

Twenty one minutes locked into a body. 

Three minutes of freedom. 

Such has been Heartman's life for a very long time.

It's almost sweet of Sam to worry - and he does worry. About the lingering effects of the cardiac arrest, about the repetitive nature of what Heartman is doing, about Heartman's mental state. He worries, even if he's utterly gruff about it. And even then the gruffness is charming in its own way.

Heartman once thought him cold like the mountains he rests on, but in person, it's clear Sam has just as many layers as the ground beneath him, and while his worry is quieter than most, it is still there. Heartman does his best to wave it off, because he has no right to that worry. This is the life he's chosen. The life he _must _have, because he doesn't want to die alone. 

It's embarrassing in hindsight, to bleed so freely, so openly, in front of Sam like he does. He's always been good at data and numbers - but people and emotions are different. Logically, he knows how it _should _go. But logic doesn't always win out. He mutes his alarm, knowing he'll likely end up on the floor, even as he explains things to Sam as quickly as he can, stripping down all the fine nuances and just leaving bone behind.

It's a relief, when his heart stops and he hits the ground. The last thing he sees is the alarm on Sam's face, and it's almost enough to make him laugh. Almost.

Then he's back on the Beach, and all thoughts of Sam vanish as Heartman relentlessly hunts.

When he comes back, Sam is gone, but scanners indicate he's still nearby. Heartman apologizes - and he means it, about not sending Sam off with a proper farewell after coming all the way up here. He knows how treacherous the mountain is, how much _more _treacherous it becomes the further in he goes. BTs are one thing, but add in regular whiteouts and the mountain terrain itself, and it's all a recipe for disaster, even for a repatriate. 

Sam doesn't take offense at it however, and even after the connection closes Heartman watches the map screen on the windows, watches the little icon labeled _Sam _get further and further away. He's going up the sheer face of the mountain, climbing the rough spots rather than taking the worn trail that goes through the BTs. It's amazing to think on how often Sam must have done that before, to build up enough upper body strength - enough body strength in general, even without the exo-skeletons providing support - to do that. 

_"Two minutes until cardiac arrest."_

He settles himself back into his chair, watching the dot until he's down to thirty seconds, and then he turns the screen off, and closes his eyes, and lets himself hope that this time he'll find them. 

Time is easy to lose track of, even with all the measures he takes. Three minutes here, three minutes there, it all adds up, but makes no sense. So three or four visits later, when Heartman lands on the Beach, the very last thing he expects to see is Sam Porter Bridges, in all his naked glory, walking around like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He knows he makes some kind of noise. Not over the shock of seeing Sam naked, precisely - he's well aware of his own anatomy, and the sight of anyone _naked _on a Beach isn't enough to deter him - but over the shock of seeeing _Sam._

"Weren't you just--?" he starts, and Sam rolls his shoulders in a shrug. There are scars - handprints, peppered along his tanned shoulders, down his arms and thighs. Like someone tried to grab him. Heartman hastily yanks his eyes back up, not wanting Sam to get the wrong idea. 

"Battle scars," Sam jokes, and Heartman clears his throat, uncomfortable at having been caught ogling. 

"Apologies. But ah--"

"It's faster with two, right?"

Heartman stares. Sam can't be offering what he thinks he's offering. 

"That's not... you need..."

"BB's safe. And I'm kind of stuck in a whiteout right now. Not like I got much else to do."

"Hardman's not going to be happy," Heartman whispers, as something in the vicinity of his heart - hah - contracts sharply. His eyes feel like burning. God, hasn't he cried enough in front of Sam today? "The cargo--"

"Fuck the cargo," Sam growls, and for once he actually _looks _like some old God out of the myths, displeasure drawn along his face like the lines of a blade. "I'll get the cargo to it's destination. You're looking for something a lot more important."

"You can't stay long. Or often." He wipes at his eyes, furitively. "You're important, Sam. I've lasted this long on my own, I don't mind--"

"I do." And that's the discussion cut. "Where have you already looked? Show me."

Heartman would argue, if he had any strength left. But as it is, he's wasted valuable time, and Sam will likely be gone as soon as goes, so instead he starts showing Sam the places he's already checked, and together they begin to comb the Beach.

Heartman leaves when the three minutes are up, and he spends his time in the chair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a little raw over the encounter. He lets a few more tears fall, and then shakes himself out of it, just in time for him to go back.

Sam is still there. Clothed, this time, waist-deep in the water, hands cupped around his mouth as he calls out. Faint whispers come back, echoes of the dead, displeased by the intrusion. Undeterred, Sam wades further along the stretch, and calls out again.

Heartman watches him, a revelation he's not ready to touch rearing itself up in the back of his mind like a cobra waiting to strike, and then turns to continue the search as well.

Three minutes has never felt so long. Sam is gone the next time, but there are still footprints in the sand, leading out to the sea, still the smell of the woods, and dirt, and icy mountain air lingering around like a perfume. All signs that there was another man here, one with a heart buried beneath layers of barbed wire, who cared enough to help Heartman _look._

That much, Heartman won't forget.


End file.
